To Live in the Present
by Nozomi ga Kanau
Summary: Harl's thinking about Mik and his life in general one night at Skids dorm. Slight Mik/Harl, a bit of insight on our fave blonde


Authors Notes: Um…don't ask where this came from. It just hit me. I love Boy meets Boy, so myeh. This has slash implications and swearing. So what? If you've read the comic, you're expecting it.  
  
Disclaimer: I own it not. K. Sandra Fuhr owns BmB, Harley, Mik, Cy and all them. I honestly don't know if Harl ever said/did such a thing with his father. I just took it from my own past, so please don't steal. ^.^ I don't claim to own any of these people however…I just like to play with them sometimes.  
  
Summary: Harley is thinking on top of Skids dorm, late at night. Contemplating a few things.  
  
Dedication: To Eyo. Without her telling me she thought it'd be good, I wouldn't have ever had the nerve to toy with Sandra's bois. And to Sandra…cause without her, I wouldn't have been able to play with the bishies. ^_^  
  
Brady  
  
EXTRA note: This fic was written based in the time period in which Harls and Mikheal broke up-after that little 'trust' issue. So heh.  
  
~*~*~  
  
A shooting star is told to make a wish come true. That is, if you're quick enough to realize it for what it was and make the said wish.   
  
I saw such a thing during the daytime once. Well, somewhat. I was being taken to school by my father and I said something along the lines of 'Look, a flaming bird.'  
  
Well, of course he had to look. So he told me, in an excited tone, that it was a shooting star and that I should make a wish. I remember laughing and saying, "I want to be friends."  
  
I never said friends with whom, and my father never asked me. Even to this day, I've wondered what my six-year-old self was thinking when stating such a thing. Friends with whom? With what? And why did I even give a damn?  
  
My questions remained unanswered, and I forgot all about that day. At least, until tonight. I'm staring up at the sky, on the roof of the dorm that Skids stays at. I'm crashing at his house tonight--Cy's here too. But they're inside.  
  
So here I am, staring like an idiot up at the sky, pondering my young-selves carefree attitude towards wishes. What a stupid wish, you know? I could've wished to be so incredibly fucking famous in my band, or that Mik wouldn't be such an untrusting bastard, but no. Of course not. I had to wish to be friends. And I never said with WHOM.  
  
People wonder why I'm an Atheist.   
  
I roll onto my side, knowing full well that the dirty shingles will smear onto my clean white shirt, but I don't care. I let the rough edges press against my stomach, leaving faintly pink scratch marks. Or else they would if it wasn't pitch black out with only the stars to shine. My mind wanders to Mikheal...but I push his face away.  
  
I'm out here to ponder my existence, not my dissolved relationship with Man-cum-Monkey. Damnit. Yeah.  
  
I can hear Skids squeaking, even from this distance. I'm right above his room, and I know Cyanide's tickling him from the laughter and squealing. Some part of me wishes to be with them, to tackle the ticklish Italian and watch him laugh. Another part wants to be with Mik, to be held like I had been. And then, the last part, just wants to be out.  
  
Yeah, even I can get tired of being myself, even though I am adorable with a really nice ass. But, once in a while, I let myself ponder another path I could've chosen. I could've gone to college, been a music major...maybe I could've taught kids how to carry a tune or something. Yanno, something respectable like that.  
  
But instead, I chose to be Miks live-in boyfriend, to try and be a major rock band with my buds. Made myself almost totally dependant on the Neanderthal. But sometimes...well, I've never really regretted such a decision. I mean I loved Mik. Still love. You know what I mean. I wanted to be with him, it made me happy, so I never truly regretted my choice in life. I just occasionally pondered what would've happened if we had dated casually or something until I was out of college.   
  
If he still would've loved me had we not lived together and I had been forced into his face. I don't doubt he would've, at least, I wouldn't have. And even after all this, I still don't. He was jealous. Typical. And mistrustful. Typical there too.   
  
...But I hadn't betrayed him even once during our entire three years together. SO I had made a mistake. Big deal. Everyone makes those.  
  
Like once, Mik accidentally stepped on a picture of his. He had laid it on the ground for better perspective or something like that, and was painting like the good little anal, gay artist he is. I was singing to something in the shower, and when I walked into his painting room, wearing naught but a towel, he had stepped on his painting.  
  
Right in time, too. His foot went right through that shit. It sounded like hell, especially when he gave a soft yelp and then looked at it with wounded eyes. Like the damn thing had tried to throw itself in the pathway of his foot.  
  
Some may claim that was my fault too, but is it really an error on my part because he has ADD and can't concentrate on anything but me when I'm half naked, wet and lost?  
  
Of course not. My case is made.  
  
Something catches my eye, and I roll onto my back to see what it was. A star. A fucking shooting star, blazing bright and almost holy in front of me. For a moment, I was in a state of shock. Of all nights; of all moments.  
  
"I wish I was a friend."  
  
My own whisper surprises me, as do the words. I blink a few times and then rub my eyes. When I reopen them, the star's gone, like it never existed. But it had, for a few awe-inspiring seconds. And I had made a wish, hadn't I? To be a friend.  
  
Downstairs, I can hear Skids laughing. Cy's probably grinning, pinning the poor boy down in victory over a piece of candy or something. Maybe my six-year-old self knew something my nineteen-year-old self still can't comprehend.  
  
Maybe sometimes the imperfect wish can mean the perfect outcome. At least for a six-year old. As for me, now, where I am...it's all blurred. The outcome is shadowed while the past is misted. All I have is the present.   
  
Is the present this roof? This night? This day, month or year? Maybe I am the present, and I create both the past and the future. Maybe the only thing I can't create is my friends, or my ability to be one.   
  
I stand and brush the dirt from my clothes before moving towards the ladder leading to Skids window. Maybe I'll have a bit of that candy, sing with some the songs Cy's determined to play for us all. I'll worry about Mik later; he'll always be in my past. And my present. As for my future?  
  
Fuckit. There's only the present. 


End file.
